Page 22 of Ghosted in Arkadia
A message from Ghost appears on the arm I was just studying.
Take your clothes off.
The pad of my finger traces over the letters, feeling warm heat spreading through my body. It wants me to do whatever it takes to have Ghost touching me, insisting that the fact that he is akiller is unimportant. Or at least, not a vital point, considering the thought of him ending someone’s life for me only turns me on more.
I blame the fucked-in-the-head mentality of the mateless. Someone who would doanythingfor me.
It’s all I’ve ever wished for.
I head over to the window, looking out to the quiet neighborhood. Fall is coming, and the sky is getting dark earlier every day. The looming thunderstorm makes it feel later than it is.
If only it would rain.
A lightning bolt streaks across the sky, and thunder immediately follows, making me jump. Rain pours, hammering against the roof as the clouds release their tension. Lightning dots the sky, and thunder rumbles in its wake. Before returning to bed, I shut the curtains so no one can look inside.
I have a choice in front of me, though it feels like there is only one actual path.
My tank top lands inside my closet on top of my discarded work shirt, leaving me in only a sports bra and black cotton underwear. Close enough. I write on my stomach, showing proof of my cooperation.
Done
Several minutes click by, and I am still waiting for a response. Vodka helps me to fill in the time and push away any nagging voices of caution. The seconds feel like agony. Waiting has never been one of my strengths. My nipples are hard under the thin material, just as impatient as I am, until finally, a message comes through my arm.
All your clothes?
Are you watching me?
My reply sinks into my skin, but I am already off the bed and looking around the room. I head back over to the window,peeking through the curtains. Through the light of the street lamps, I watch the rain fall in sheets. The rest of the world has been swallowed in the dark deluge. No one would be out there watching.
I shut the curtains, ensuring the entire window is covered before grabbing a blanket to wrap around me like a makeshift robe. Feeling less exposed, I unlock my bedroom door and open it to check on Rex. He’s sleeping, sprawled out on the couch and snoring softly.
“Some guard dog you are,” I scoff, shutting and locking myself back in my room.
I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, but the thought of Ghost watching me isn’t unsettling. It’s exhilarating. Still, I head into the bathroom, closing and locking the door for good measure. I check behind the shower curtain before opening every cabinet and closet, despite their size.
I face the mirror and allow the blanket to fall to the floor to check for any more messages from Ghost. Nothing.
I smile as I observe myself remove my bra without snagging the kit. My breasts aren’t small, but what they lack in size, they make up for in a gravity-defying position. They hang like teardrops while the metal bars proudly adorn my puckered peaks.
It’s been a while since I genuinely looked at myself in a mirror.
My eyes travel down my waist, even flatter than it was in training. Only because my diet mainly consists of alcohol now, whereas the shit they served in the cafeteria was at least something solid. My body doesn’t look frail, but I could handle a few more substantial meals.
The pads of my fingertips trail down to the band of my underwear, and I slip under it, toying and teasing as if Ghost really could see me. I notice black marks and pull my underwear down to see the message left on my pelvis.
Good girl
Fireworks explode inside me while a plug is pulled out from beneath me. This is how Ghost knew I wasn’t fully naked, not from watching. The humiliation from being left on the bathroom floor earlier mixes with the mental admission that I had wished a crazy murderer was watching me take my clothes off. I reply on my arm with the first thought that pops into my head.
Good girls turn in the crazy, psychotic murderers
A response comes back, written across my chest. The letters are chunky and smeared into place as if written with a finger.
MINE
Through the reflection in the mirror, I watch as a black spot appears on my bottom lip, and I reach up to caress it. A humming-like quality shoots through my body when I touch where he has just touched. The line moves, and I move with it, over my chin and trailing down the column of my throat.
The print of his hand wrapping around my neck turns from red to black. I imagine him coating his hand in blood, mixing over his palm with his fingertips before choking himself. The thought makes me squirm. A drip of arousal leaks onto my thighs as my hand wraps around my throat. I close my eyes as I squeeze, imagining Ghost instead.
